


And Capered, Prowl and Away

by ofwickedlight



Series: Purple Lions [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon Relationships, Character Study, Denial, Denial of Bisexuality, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Femslash February 2019, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jealousy, Joanna Lannister is a tsundere, Minor Joanna/Aerys, POV Joanna Lannister, Period-Typical Underage, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Pre-Canon, Rare Pairings, Self-Denial, Tsunderes, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 09:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofwickedlight/pseuds/ofwickedlight
Summary: Lannisters lie, even to themselves.Or, five times Joanna Lannister denied she was in love with Rhaella Targaryen, and one time she couldn’t.





	And Capered, Prowl and Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unorgaynized](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorgaynized/gifts), [TheEagleGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/gifts), [thundersnowstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersnowstorm/gifts).



> And with that, I submit a fic for Femslash February one hour before February is over. But hey, I made it!
> 
> This is dedicated to a_sober_folly, thundersnowstorm, and TheEagleGirl, who were great encouragement and support throughout the writing process of this fic. They provided great feedback and ideas, and motivated me to fight my procrastination. Love you guys. <3

* * *

 

 

**Once**

 

 _Aren’t I a sight?_ There was no mirror in her view, but Joanna saw the embroidery and lace swirling over her arms, felt silk as green as her eyes cling to her waist and push at her breasts, feel the skirt drape and fall and hug her hips to kiss the floor. But more than that, she felt the gaze. Wide and amethyst, glowing through Joanna with a softness she sensed like her own breath.

Joanna’s eyes met her Kitten’s. Sure enough, Rhaella was staring, gaze adorned with parted lips, eyes shining in awe, admiration. Not just that. Lust, too. Joanna knew. She’d seen that same look in Aerys’s eyes, that purple glow that bloomed alight whenever she graced his presence. His sister was no different. But of course the sweet princess had not realized that, just yet, even if those unnatural eyes of hers did. It was a new thing. Sweet, fledgling. And ripe for the plucking, as it had always been.

Joanna gave Rhaella a little smirk, the knowing one she reserved for princesses who were easy to blush. Sure enough, there was those clouds of pink, blooming over pale cheeks. Rose and snow, hazing over the lavender gown she’d just been fitted in, and the silver rivulets of her hair, draping down past her little breasts. Joanna licked the inside of her lips. The princess was a sight of her own, Joanna could admit. _And I would have it no other way._ Joanna Lannister did not take kindly to her toys wearing. Better to improve with age … like wine.

Knowing she had the kitten entranced, Joanna turned around slowly, let the princess get a good view of every angle. Wide amethysts followed every slow twirl, and her cheeks pinkened. _And with that, the dress is mine,_ Joanna thought, letting herself smirk wider. She wouldn’t even have to go through her own accounts that Uncle Tytos left for her. The Crown’s coffers would find themselves a bit emptier by the time the day was done, Rhaella would see to it.

“Well?” Joanna asked teasingly, eyes never leaving her princess’s.

Rhaella smiled shyly, twisted at her fingers, like she always did when she was shy or nervous. Joanna fought the scowl that threatened to take her lips. The girl had a tell, a weakness, and it annoyed Joanna to no end. Many a time she’d tried to show her how to hide herself, put up her walls and shields, so that others may not take advantage of her — only so that Joanna and Joanna alone could have her, wind her up and see her go, that was it, no other reason — but no. She was a child unyielding, soft and sheltered and _innocent._ And she was always slow to speak, too, not quick on her feet like Joanna or Lorei. Which was why she sat here now, on her little bench, struggling to find the right words.

Septa Lurelle beat her to it. “It’s too tight,” she said, judging eyes boring into the deep slope of Joanna’s bodice.

 _Not as tight as your pruned cunt._ “I think our princess should be the judge of that,” Joanna said. She raised an eyebrow at Rhaella. “What say you then, hmm? Am I to burst at the seams at any moment?”

Rhaella’s blush deepened at that. “I … I think it’s lovely, my lady.” Her voice was light and airy, like birds chirping. Joanna could never decide if she hated it or not. “More than lovely, really. You look … it’s — it’s beautiful.”

Joanna smirked at the septa. “To be fair, tightness and beauty can coexist. Quite well, from my experience.”

That got a disapproving frown from the septa, but from her lounge, Loreza Martell laughed. Rhaella blinked at them in confusion.

“Hush, you,” Lorei said, scoldingly, but her pretty black eyes were twinkling. She was gorgeous, playing with her necklace of amber, the jewels and her sunny robes blending beautifully against her smooth dusky skin. Her garb was nearly as exposing as the Dornish attire she had given to Joanna, thin silk that showed the skin underneath and revealed the belly. Joanna had loved it, but knew she could never get away with wearing it — not in public, anyhow. But Aerys would like it, she knew, so she’d still accepted her gift as Lorei gave her a knowing smirk.

Rhaella’s gift had been more appropriate for a girl only just grazing at maidenhood, long enough to cover the belly and thick as to not show her nipples poking at the fabric, but it was still unsuitable, seeing as it consisted of trousers instead of a skirt. Still, they had clung to Rhaella’s hips and showed off her legs that were quite long, despite her short stature, and Joanna found that she liked it. Very much, in fact. But alas. Even still, with Lorei came exquisite jewels, delicious wine, and good times. There were no good times now, though — not when Lorei had to fuss over Rhaella.

“Sweetling,” she said to Rhaella, “Are you finished with the tailoring?”

“I am,” said the princess. Her big purple eyes found Joanna’s again. “I would like my dress, and … and Lady Joanna’s too, please.”

“I could never impose, my princess,” Joanna said, biting the inside of her cheek to hide her smirk. The child was just too easy, sometimes. She would have to remedy that, one of these days. _After I am Queen, and need a good princess to serve me, to not be the weak link enemies use against me._ Until then, it would serve Joanna well, but she would have to keep the girl close to avoid any … mishaps.

“Of course not,” said Lorei, sarcasm and warning dripping with every word. “Never on the princess. Only her coin.”

Joanna rolled her eyes at her. As old as the Princess of Dorne was, married and with a son only a handful of years younger than Joanna, there was a liveliness to her that could often trick Joanna into forgetting that she wasn’t her age. The jest was always on her when Lorei’s maternal instincts showed itself.

Rhaella shook her pretty head. “Oh, I — I don’t mind.” Even amongst friends, she was timid. “I like buying things for my ladies.”

 _You are mine, Princess, never in reverse._ “The princess is too kind,” Joanna said.

“Not this one,” said Lorei, and they all laughed.

Except the septa. “We haven’t time to doddle, my princess. You must choose your crown for the ceremony.”

Ahh yes, the crowns. All new, light and silver and winged or scaled like dragons, curling tails and roaring mouths of shining teeth. Four of them sat on crimson pillows, waiting for their princess to choose between them. But they were more fit for a Queen, Joanna knew. _Fit for me._

Rhaella walked over to the pillows, looked at them all in wonder. For a princess who had access to all the luxuries in the world, she still managed to be grateful and awed by all the expensive things she was gifted. _You are the dragon,_ Joanna planned to tell her later. _Royalty, with the finest blood in all the realm, besides my own. These luxuries should be expected, not humbling._ It was a good thing Joanna had made sure she was the girl’s lady-in-waiting — she’d be hopeless, otherwise. _When I am Queen, I will shower you with jewels and gowns and gilded roses, all from the gold of the Rock._ The quality of a queen's servants reflected her, after all.

“Perhaps the princess could decide a bit faster?” Lurelle asked, and Joanna could not believe her ears.

Rhaella looked unsure then. “Oh …” she said, eyes raking over the crowns in an effort to please a lowly, plain, cock-deprived septa who had the absolute _gall_ to disrespect her princess — in front of a lioness and the Princess of Dorne, no less!

Joanna scowled at the cunt, opened her mouth to roar — but Lorei was faster than the lashing just behind Joanna’s teeth. “And perhaps you should wait outside,” she said, tone daring her to challenge her, black eyes hard and cold.

Lurelle did not take the challenge. Head bowed, with a soft murmuring of apology to the princess — which one, Joanna wasn’t sure — she left.

Joanna was still furious. “You should have reprimanded her,” she snapped at Rhaella. Rhaella winced at her words, but that only made Joanna angrier. “You are the dragon’s blood, and she is nothing. For the life of me I’ll never know how you just _allow_ —”

“Joanna.” Lorei’s eyes bore into her. “It is done.”

Silence. Joanna looked at Rhaella then. She was twisting at her fingers, eyes nearly wet from Joanna’s words. Almost crying, at that? Gods, Joanna had barely shown any teeth just then. The girl could be so weak sometimes, it was _maddening. I’m_ helping _you, Kitten,_ she wanted to scream. _So that you may grow into a lioness when the time is right._ But still, it was done, like Lorei said.

Joanna sighed. She knew the look on her face was a pout, and she hated herself for it, but when Lorei wished it, she was a more respectful maternal figure than Marla Prester could ever be. “She needs to learn,” Joanna insisted.

“She does,” Lorei said, “But for now, she’ll pick her crown and prepare for the ceremony.” Lorei smiled at Rhaella. “Go on, my sweet. Take all the time you need.”

Rhaella blinked up at them, eyes drying at Lorei’s coddling. Then she went back to the crowns. She looked over them carefully, then placed the thinnest one on her head. It was the prettiest, a mix of silver and pearl, with twin dragons laced by the tails, their wings high in flight, their eyes glittering amethyst, the same amethyst as her eyes. If Rhaella were not so small and timid, with her head hanging low in shyness, the crown would almost make her look like a queen. Almost. But still, it made her glow, somehow. Made her gleam silver and white like some spirit made mortal. Like —

A brown hand snapped its fingers before her. “Jo. Your princess asked you a question.”

Joanna blinked. “And I heard her, of course, but I’d like to ensure I received it correctly. If my princess would mind repeating?”

Rhaella smiled, readjusted the crown on her head. “I only asked if … if you liked it.”

“It’s fitting,” Joanna said. “And the one most birdlike. I knew you’d choose it.” Rhaella was always watching birds, or singing with them, as if she were some figure plucked right out of those annoying books her mother used to read to her, when Joanna would have much preferred to hear about how their ancestor Lann cleverly conned the Casterlys out of their Rock, or Queen Alysanne’s many accomplishments. _Mother would have liked a firstborn daughter like Rhaella,_ Joanna knew, and she didn’t know if she cared enough to be bitter about it.

Rhaella beamed at her. _She so craves my approval,_ Joanna thought with a smirk. Joanna was always lost between finding it pathetic and endearing. Today, though, with Rhaella gleaming pearl and silver and amethyst, she thought it was sweet enough.

“I do choose it,” Rhaella said, happily. “Yes.” Her tiny hands fiddled with the crown. “Lorei, could you perhaps tell Septa Lurelle to ensure the other crowns are given to the smallfolk? Perhaps someone could melt the silver and give it to them, or .. or they could get the crowns and sell it themselves, or …” Her full lips twisted as she thought, blinking, nose scrunched up as she contemplated how to best do her charity work, and for some reason, Joanna found herself smiling. _I am laughing at her,_ she told herself. _She just carelessly gave away hundreds of thousands of golden dragons to riffraff._ But she should have been frowning at that, not smiling, she knew. Still, Joanna would have to teach her to channel her foolish impulses of generosity to the nobles, so that they may be useful allies in the future, rather than peasants whose love was nowhere near as valuable — if even dangerous. She’d seen what love had done to her Uncle Tytos, made him a fool in the eyes of all, highborn and peasants alike. No, Joanna would rather be feared, along with wanted, and admired. That was what women should strive for. And that is what she would make her princess want, too, if it was the last thing she did.

“I’m sure the best method will be found by others, Princess,” Joanna told her, to get her mind back on track.

Lorei called in servants to take the rejected crowns, then nodded at Rhaella. “I’ll see that it’s done,” she said. “It will give that blasted woman something to do, at the very least.” She made her way to the door, slit her eyes at them. “ _Be good,”_ she said to no one at particular, but Joanna knew she was talking to her.

Joanna smirked. “Always.”

Lorei looked unimpressed, but left all the same. Left her alone, with Rhaella.

The door closed with a soft click, followed by silence — an easy one for Joanna, but a long, embarrassing one for Rhaella; Joanna could see it in the way she kept her head bent down, fingers twisting at the other, eyes studying the armoire so intensely Joanna wondered if she could see every swirl in the cherry mahogany; either way, her cheeks were nearing the shade of it. Joanna allowed herself to smile, holding in her laugh. Gods, but her princess was such a hopeless little thing. Especially when it came to Joanna Lannister.

Rhaella found her courage, met eyes with her. “My lady,” she said, and to her credit, it wasn’t as wobbly as it had been in the beginning, when Joanna had first claimed her.

Joanna’s lips curved in a smirk. She looked at Rhaella with lidded eyes, stroked her hair, weaving a strand through her fingers. “Kitten.”

A faint hitching of breath left her pink lips, and the blush deepened. Rhaella looked away from her gaze, but smiled at the nickname. Joanna’s smirk became a full on grin. _I am cruel to her._ But no matter how many times she’d done it, it was always a delight to turn porcelain into rubies.

“I’m so glad you like the crown,” Rhaella said.

“I never said I liked it,” Joanna teased. “Only that it suited you.”

Rhaella’s big eyes blinked at that. “But … do you?” she asked.

“I do,” Joanna said, “But you are the princess. What should matter most to you is whether _you_ like it.”

Rhaella’s doe eyes looked down. “I — I know, but … I want you to like it, too.”

“Oh?” Joanna moved closer to her prey, cat green eyes seeing every little shiver her princess gave her with each step, ears hearing every hitched breath. _If I press close to her, I could feel her heartbeat._ She could practically hear it, pounding beneath that budding chest of hers. _It beats for me._ As if it were waiting for her to pounce. But the girl wasn’t ready for that yet. Not yet. “And why is that?”

Rhaella eyes fluttered. “Well, if … if you like my crown, perhaps you’d want to get one like it. For when you’re Queen.”

 _Good girl._ “We’re to be twins, are we?” she asked, chuckling.

Rhaella nodded. “If — if you want.”

Joanna smiled. Her canine tooth sank into her lip. “I do want,” she said, looking Rhaella up and down. “Very much.”

Rhaella let out a little gasp before closing it behind bitten lips, her eyes sparkling. Still, that blush was there. Deepening and deepening. _She is not so innocent to have misunderstood that,_ Joanna noticed. _I am corrupting her._

Joanna played with her hair again. “Are you so certain I will be Queen?” If Rhaella knew something, she would tell it. Aerys was close to his sister, and it was convenient when it wasn’t annoying. Perhaps he had revealed something to her.

“How could I not be?” Rhaella asked. “My brother loves you, Joanna. He would have no one else for his bride.”

“And we’ll be sisters,” Joanna reminded her. If Rhaella were from any other House, that may be upsetting, considering. But she was a Targaryen, and so, being siblings with Joanna was exciting rather than off putting.

Rhaella nodded eagerly, eyes bright. Then she reached for her head, placed her crown in her dainty hands, put it to her heart as she smiled at Joanna. Then, her little arms started reaching. Reaching past Joanna’s neck, to her face, and toward her head. Her arms were far too short to reach the top, but she was determined. She stretched and strained, pushing with all her might, tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration, and somehow, it was charming instead of foolish. Joanna watched every inch of her face, laughed to herself, smiled. But she did not bow her head.

When Rhaella realized she could not crown her Queen naturally, she stood on the tips of her toes, and then, it was done. The dragons were atop Joanna Lannister’s head, adorning gold instead of silver. As it should be.

Rhaella knew it, too. Her pretty purple eyes glittered like the amethysts they were, wide and bright, as she eyed Joanna. She clasped her hands over her heart, smiled. “Oh, Joey,” she said, and something rippled through Joanna at the nickname, as it always did. Something soft but burning, all at once. Normally it bothered Joanna, but now, it didn’t, somehow. Not this time. “It’s perfect on you.”

Joanna turned, looked at the mirror. It was true. She did look perfect, even more so than usual. The silken gown was as green as her eyes, emerald and tight and flowing, her hair raining gold, with silver dragons flying around her. As if she were the sun, and they were her rays, shining on all those beneath her. _Soon,_ she thought.

Rhaella joined her in the mirror, stood at her side. Small and soft and dainty, she was beautiful — almost as beautiful as Joanna. A silver princess, beside a golden queen. As it should be. Through the mirror, Joanna caught her looking at her, but she didn’t need the glass to tell her that. She could always feel Rhaella’s gaze on her, no matter where they were or what they were doing.

Joanna met her eye in truth, not through the mirror. Rhaella’s eyes were unearthly, sparkling, _glowing_ , all with awe, and admiration, and … and …

“You’ll be the best queen this realm has ever seen, Joanna,” Rhaella said. Her voice was soft, knowing, _loving._ “Oh, I just can’t wait.” She smiled at Joanna, soft, and sweet, and _gods,_ she’d known the girl was taken with her, but _this._ This was beyond an infatuation. This was _truth._ Rhaella could not lie to save her life. She _meant_ it when she said she wanted Joanna to be queen, to be happy, to be powerful. Rhaella’s happiness was Joanna’s happiness. Selfless and kind and ...

As Joanna stared into those honest, beautiful eyes, a tightness took her chest, heart skipping a beat, and foolishly, randomly, _unbidden,_ her lips curved into a smile — not a smirk, or a grin, but a _smile,_ a true one, a soft one, the most gentle smile she’d ever made in all her fifteen years of living, and it was … _fond_. Fond like the gazes Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Shaera gave each other. Fond like King Aegon and Queen Betha. Fond like Uncle Tytos and Aunt Jeyne. Fond.

Fond.

 _You smile because you have her,_ she told herself. _You smile because you’ve won. She is your servant now, your silly, humble servant who will follow you to the ends of the earth, who you will train in the game of thrones, who you will keep as you birth and raise her royal nephews and nieces. That is all. That is_ all. That was all.

Joanna should have told the girl she was being foolish. She should have told her that she was a princess, one by blood, the blood of the dragon, and that she should not hand over power so willingly. She should have scolded her for surrendering her crown, especially to a beast like her. But it was light on Joanna’s head, and her scalp prickled where Rhaella had touched her. It was not just Joanna’s crown, no. Not hers alone.

She should have berated her. She should have teased. But instead, she said, “You are too sweet for your own good, Kitten.” Too sweet for court, too sweet for the world. And certainly for Joanna Lannister. Yet emerald eyes stayed locked on amethysts.

Joanna made her stare turn challenging, and she forced herself to smirk. It was more halfhearted than she intended. _Everyone has their off days,_ she told herself. She was allowed to be human. Sometimes. Still, it worked on the silly girl, and she looked away first. The sense of relief pooling through Joanna’s stomach was far too great for her comfort.

Lorei knocked on the door, and Joanna felt rescued, sickeningly. “The ceremony is about to begin,” she said. “Our newly crowned princess is needed.”

When it was time for Rhaella to retrieve her crown back, Joanna still did not bow, made her work for it. “A queen never gives her crown willingly, Princess,” she said mockingly as the girl reached on the tips of her toes, like a child. A child, and Joanna was a woman grown. A woman _in control._

 _You own_ her, Joanna thought, and nothing was truer.

 

**Once more**

 

 _I should have accounted for this._ The thought was vicious in her mind, scalding, and if she had less decorum her fists would be clenched, and shaking, and everyone in the godforsaken throne room would feel and hear the wrath of a lioness who had been scorned and disrespected and _played for a fool_ —

Joanna bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from scowling. She _did_ have decorum, and class, and the spirit of a queen, so she stayed there, coolness on her face as she stood proud and beautiful and cloakless.

The creatures before her had cloaks, though. Dark and flowing, black and red, colors of the dragon. They were the same in every way, twinned, yet they were to be traded, all the same. A life for a life. A crown for a crown. Betrayal upon betrayal. And they _had_ betrayed her, both of them. Even before this nonsense, this _usurpation_ , they had betrayed her. Aerys, and his soft smiles that he would only give to his sweet sister, and Rhaella, whose bloody eyes somehow seemed to glow in a different way when she looked at her protective big brother. So inseparable it was disgusting, those two, and it had always filled Joanna with rage to see them together — only because their bond interfered with her plans, of course. It was difficult to control those who had others in their life, fighting for that control.

And now, Joanna would have to fight for that control with a fucking cloak.

Rhaella’s trembling fingers twisted at the dark fabric, head bowed and looking everywhere but at Aerys, or Joanna. Her eyes were wide, pained, but dry. _It is only because she has cried herself dry,_ Joanna thought venomously. As soon as the ceremony was done, that godsforsaken one she’d been ordered to choose a crown for, the one that began with a hideous woods witch and ended with leonine rage and dragon’s tears, she had been whining about her betrothal to Joanna, going on and on about how she did not want it, and Grandpapa and Father were so mean, and when she wasn’t doing that, she was bawling, face pink in a way that had crossed the line between amusing and annoying to infuriating, eyes watery as she begged for Joanna’s forgiveness. “Please, Joey,” she had mewled, airy voice chirping in Joanna’s ears, chirping, _chirping,_ “I don’t want this. Neither of us do. Aerys wants you, and I —” She stopped herself before she confessed it, the thing between them. A weakling, even when she was so close to womanhood. Even when she was a thief, a usurper, now, since that woods witch opened her wrinkled, toothless mouth, and Prince Jaehaerys had been stupid enough to believe her.

Still, despite the fact that Rhaella was an unwilling thief, she was no liar. She did not want to marry Aerys, and Aerys definitely did not want her. He had come begging to her too, endless beseeching, excuses as to why he could not be a man and take what he wanted despite his father’s word, droning, _whining,_ and Joanna could not believe that she had ever thought him worthy of her, future queenship in his hands or no. If this was what the royal line was coming to, she wanted no part of it.

Regardless, the salt that poured from unnatural eyes had streamed more than enough before this _wondrous_ day. So no, the future Queen of Westeros did not cry as the High Septon rambled on, and King Aegon stood seething as if he hadn’t the fucking power to stop all of this, and Jaehaerys and Shaera looked on proudly, the cunts. Even still, it was a wonder.

The rustle of cloaks sounded through the hall, and it was time. Aerys took off his cloak, eyes burning holes into Rhaella’s shoulder, jaw tight, fists clenched into the fabric. Joanna felt no sympathy. _You should have used that anger to threaten every guard and coachmen into helping whisk me away, to make me your queen despite the forbidding, as your cunt father did your whore mother._

Rhaella’s cloak was undone, slid down her tiny body in a slither. Even from far away, Joanna could somehow sense her hitching breath, her frantic heartbeat, the tears that threatened to fall, and by all the gods, this girl was so dramatic and weak, it was insufferable. It was a forced marriage, true, but so were nearly all highborn marriages, and unlike other ladies, Rhaella was matched with a man who knew her, loved her, would never hurt her, her _brother_ of all people —

Her brother. Yes, obviously. Of course Aerys would have to wed Rhaella. Of course. Fucking Targaryens, and their incest, and their prophecies. _I should have known. I should have planned for this._ In part, this was her own fault, for letting herself get caught up in Rhaella’s silliness, and Lorei’s wine and wit, and the feeling of that crown on her head. Joanna had come to court to play the game, but she’d faltered, and it played her. A lesson learned. True lionesses could admit defeat.

Still, that acceptance didn’t stop her from watching every flow of black fabric that fell as Aerys loomed it over Rhaella’s shoulders. The fucking thing couldn’t fall fast enough. Slowly descending, slowly, brushing pale, soft skin, and, unbidden, Joanna imagined it shifting from black and red to crimson and gold, the dragon twisting into a lion — no, a _lioness —_ as it draped over Rhaella.

A numbness took Joanna as she blinked the sight away. A strange image, and even stranger to think of it. _And yet it is fitting,_ she told herself. _Jaehaerys and Shaera may think they’ve won, but I know the truth of it. I own their daughter, and their son, and though my crown sits atop Rhaella’s head, I will be ruler when they die._ It was often said that those behind the throne held the true power, not the one who sat upon it. Yes, that was why she’d imagined it. Targaryens weren’t the only ones with knowledge of the future. Still, Joanna would have loved to see the look on the court’s faces if it was _her_ standing where Aerys stood now, his king’s crown on her head, as she cloaked Rhaella, claimed her for all the world to see, a way that silently announced that she would fuck her as soon as the wedding feast was done. Not that she hadn’t done that already. Joanna smirked as she remembered the warm slickness that had graced her fingers only a few nights before. The night she took Rhaella’s maidenhood before Aerys could. Yes. She already owned the girl, but it would be amusing to make it official.

Official. An unnecessary thing, in the long run. Joanna’s eyes found Prince Jaehaerys, who smiled as he watched his children’s misery, one he had created, and one his father had allowed. _Smile while you can, fool. For though you stole my queenship, I_ will _be King._

 

**Thrice**

 

The swell was big and round and, well, swollen. Not grotesque, but just enough to be off-putting. Rhaella was too tiny to be so big. To have a child inside of her. Yet there it was, and there _she_ was — well, the parts of her that weren’t hidden behind the belly that poked out of the bedsheets, that is.

“Sleep, Princess,” Joanna said. Sitting by the girl’s leg, she couldn’t see her face, not with the babe in the way, but she could tell she was awake just from the way she breathed. Too stiff and slow, like one did when they were feigning sleep. _As if she could fool me._ No Targaryen would ever fool Joanna again, she would make sure of that.

The bed shifted as Rhaella fidgeted. “I’m trying.”

Joanna put her book down, sat up so she could see the girl’s face. Sure enough, she looked exhausted. “What is it?”

Rhaella winced as she moved again, trying to get comfortable. “My … my stomach.”

Joanna’s eyes flitted to her belly. “Should I call for the maester?”

Rhaella shook her head. “No, it is only … he is moving.”

 _He._ Because of course they’d determined that’s what it was. Fucking prophecies.

“That’s what babes do, I imagine,” Joanna said.

“It’s stopping me from sleeping.” She sounded utterly pitiful. A child, having a child. It was not the first time during this godsforsaken pregnancy that Joanna wanted to find Aerys and Jaehaerys and slit both of their throats.

Joanna sighed. “I can see that.”

Rhaella looked at her, mouth parted as if she wanted to speak, then looked away. Joanna resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her. She had been like this ever since her belly started to show — even more awkward than usual, and for the life of her, Joanna couldn’t understand why.

It couldn’t be because she was pregnant. Not when, on the night after her wedding, Joanna had made her describe every single detail of the child’s conception. Oh, she had been a shy thing of course, blushing and twisting her fingers, and looking away, and hesitant to speak. But eventually Joanna coaxed it out of her with gentle smiles and caressing, and Rhaella told her, because Rhaella did whatever Joanna bid her to do. By the time the girl was done, her face was as red as the blood she’d lost when Aerys fucked her, and Joanna’s smallclothes were sopping wet. Even so, with each question the girl answered, Joanna had wanted to rip out her tongue, or fuck her to prove who was better at making her cum, or both. Instead, she had made it clear she was displeased by radiating coldness and smiling behind clenched teeth, and that had punished the girl enough. Still, seeing the hurt cross her stupidly pretty face brought Joanna no pleasure as she thought it would, oddly enough. So Joanna held the girl until she fell into slumber, breathing in her scent of powder and mist, and envisioning herself sitting on Aerys’s face, smothering him with her cunt as she flayed his cock with her lion’s claws, digging slow, slow enough to make him rue what he’d done, to Rhaella and Joanna, and Aerys was in agony, bleeding, _paying,_ and he’d screamed in mercy and pain against her flesh, making her wetter, drowning him more, and he died like the weakling he was with her juices conquering his throat. Joanna had refused to relieve herself from being aroused by Rhaella’s wedding night tale, but this fantasy was acceptable. She’d pleasured herself with her Kitten asleep and unaware at her side, holding the girl with one hand and thrusting and flicking with the other, and the climax was so great she’d fallen asleep before she’d known it. So all in all, it had turned out to be a good night.

It couldn’t be because of the marriage. Joanna had told her not to worry her pretty little head about it, the fact that she was to be a queen someday, when that destiny had been meant for Joanna. She had said it, but she still hadn’t known if she’d truly forgiven the girl. She was not the one to be cross with, Joanna knew. Her wrath was due at Jaehaerys, for his stupidity, at Aegon, for his sloth, and Aerys, for his weakness. And she had that for them in spades, oh yes. She had even considered poisoning Jaehaerys, not only to punish him for stealing from her, but to put Aerys higher in the line of succession. Aegon wasn’t getting any younger; he would die on his own, give or take a few years, and with Jaehaerys gone, that made Rhaella Queen, and Joanna, King. Even still, she had thought of killing the old man, for crossing her, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it came. Rhaella loved that old, peasant-loving fart. If he died, she would cry herself to death, little bird tears drowning her eyes, and Joanna would have to deal with it. She could practically feel the snot and tears dampening her shoulder, now. So, no. Everyone would live for now, even Jaehaerys. Good things came to lionesses who wait.

A little gasp took Joanna from her thoughts. Rhaella held her stomach, blinking owlishly.

Joanna moved toward the bed’s edge. “I’m calling the maester.”

“No,” Rhaella said, and a smile took her face. “I’m not hurt, he’s —” She made that high-pitched, breathy sound of excitement she made whenever she was really happy, a mix between a gasp and a giggle. “He — he just kicked!”

Joanna leaned back down, watched Rhaella’s belly with a raised eyebrow. Then her hand was moving on its own, reaching, then palming, feeling soft silk and warmth and roundness.

Rhaella gasped in surprise, but didn’t move. Joanna barely noticed her. Her hand. It was all in her hand. Nothing, yet. Then, a bump, the slightest one, right against her thumb.

Joanna slid her hand closer, and she felt it more. Bump. Bump.

Unbidden, Joanna bent down, rested her ear against the belly. It wasn’t silence, but it wasn’t quite a sound either. More like the feeling of how it was to be underwater, a thickness that was odd, and dull, but life all the same. Alive. There was a child inside of Rhaella, and he was alive.

Another bump, stronger this time. If Joanna were as silly as his mother, she would have sworn she felt him brush against her cheek. Like a greeting.

Rhaella giggled. “That was a strong one,” she said.

Joanna sat up, shrugged, smirked. “Of course it was,” she said. “All cubs are strong.”

There was a confused silence. Joanna met Rhaella’s bright, blinking eyes. “Cub?” she asked.

Joanna rolled her eyes. “Yes, Princess. _Cub._ The word that describes young lions.”

“Well, yes,” Rhaella said, “But —”

“Have you forgotten my sigil? If I am a lion, then this one is my cub.” She ran another hand over Rhaella’s belly.

Rhaella’s eyes brightened, and she beamed. “Truly, Joey? Do … do you mean it?”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Joanna pressed her ear against her son again, and listened. Moving, thumping … _hello._ Joanna chuckled, pressed her fingers against him. _Hello yourself, you strange thing, you. You’re going to be my student, aren’t you?_ A future king raised by Joanna would be an excellent puppet, in the long run. Good things came to lionesses that waited, prowled.

Rhaella hesitantly placed a tiny hand on Joanna’s mane. Even after all this time, after all their kisses and her maidenhead that’d streamed down Joanna’s fingers, she was hesitant. She knew that one did not touch a lioness unpermitted without caution. Even if the lioness owned them. And yet, when those soft fingers stroked through golden locks, Joanna didn’t feel slighted at the unsanctioned touch. Strange. She usually wasn’t one for being held. _It is the blasted child. He’s calmed me._ Lioness though she was, it was still in her nature to be soft around her cub.

Joanna lifted her head a bit, to get a good look at her princess. She’d gained weight in her arms from the babe, and her cheeks were chubbier than they were before, but her breasts had swelled from milk and were full, fuller than they’d ever been, and Joanna liked that. She liked that very much.

Rhaella caught her stare, looked away, blushed. Her eyes were dull and puffy from tiredness, but the moonlight caught them all the same, and her hair was as silver as ever, white with moonglow.

Joanna shifted up to face Rhaella, laid on her side, wrapped her arms around her, got as close to her as the child would allow.

“He’s ours, Kitten,” she whispered. _Ours, and no one else’s._ If she ever heard Aerys refer to her son as _his,_ it would be him she poisoned, Rhaella’s snot-filled crying be damned.

Rhaella nodded and gave her a tired smile. Then she looked down, eyes growing sad. “Yes,” she whispered back, “But I wish that … that you had put him in me, too.”

There should have been anger running through her at the unintended boasting, Joanna knew, but instead, there was nothing in her but an odd acceptance at that. But strangely, she misliked the reminder that she hadn’t the means to claim Rhaella in the only way that mattered, by getting a child on her. Of course, if Jaehaerys and Aegon hadn’t foiled her plans, it would be Joanna with the big belly, which should have happened — she was a lioness, a daughter of the Rock, strong and fierce and the blood of kings, she deserved the crown, she did, she fucking _did_. But it was done, now. She still had her claws dug into both Rhaella and Aerys’s hearts. She was still in control. It did not matter if she were Queen or not, she knew that, though by the gods, it would’ve been fucking _nice_ to get the recognition, the title, the opportunity to work in the light, rather than the shadows. Still. It was done, but at least it had been _possible._ Try as she might, she never would have been able to impregnate Rhaella. Though Joanna had bigger balls than well over half of all the men in court, she still lacked the cock and seed to plant a proper cub in that dragon’s womb. If she could, things would be _so_ much easier, in terms of the game. Or perhaps she would have just enjoyed cuckolding Aerys and tricking him into claiming her seed as his own. She didn’t know.

Joanna looked at her princess. She still looked quite downtrodden about it. Silly thing wore all her emotions on her sleeve, and always in the extreme, never a balance. But this sadness was because she’d long to carry Joanna’s child, and so, Joanna allowed it. She shrugged, smirked at her. “Who knows,” she said, running the fingers she had fucked Rhaella with against her lips, “Perhaps I did.” She wiggled them in Rhaella’s face, poking at her nose and cheeks until the girl giggled.

“J — Joey,” she said through her smiles, blushing at Joanna’s crassness. Gods, Joanna had made the girl cum at least half a hundred times the night she took her maidenhead. She hadn’t bedded her since, but it was a wonder that hadn’t taken some of her shyness. _She is in my grip and my bed, yet she remains the same as she was the first day I stood before her as lady-in-waiting._ Despite Joanna’s control, and Jaehaerys’s cruelty, they had not destroyed Rhaella Targaryen’s innocence. There was a strength in that, Joanna supposed. A silly, useless strength, but one all the same. _I will rid her of it soon enough._

Joanna kissed the tip of Rhaella’s nose. “Sleep now, Princess,” she said, and the girl did as she bid. In the silent moonlit darkness, with their arms entwined, the feathers and sheets beneath them could very well have been their marriage bed, the child between them made with lion’s blood. A belonging. A family.

Joanna reared back at the thought. No. No, she hadn’t meant it like that. _They belong to me — Rhaella, and the child. It is easy to confuse that with family._ Gods, she had been around the girl too long; her silliness was becoming contagious. Such a foolish thought she’d had, for more reasons than the obvious. Joanna had no family. Only a House. A pride where she was neither heir nor powerful. But she was powerful here, and heir through Aerys and Rhaella’s foolishness. _They will dance to my strings when the time arrives. I own them._

In her slumber, Rhaella snuggled closer to Joanna, her scent clouding her senses. Powder and mist, soft and lulling. Joanna’s eyelids grew heavy. _I own her._ She owned her, but Rhaella’s scent was there, in her, over her, near and far, and then, it was the slumber that owned Joanna.

 

**Further**

 

Joanna Lannister was not one to regret.

Not even when it was smart. Not even when it was good. She was a lioness, and lionesses did not falter, or doubt; that was the work of lesser beings.

And yet, as she stared into the lifeless eyes of Rhaella Targaryen, she thought that she was a fool to wish the girl be freed of her innocence.

She had forgotten the gods could be cruel. That they existed only to humble those in the mortal plane who had ascended to something higher than the rest of mankind — those who were dragons, or lions. They had sought to humble Joanna by sending that woods witch to stir the madness within Jaehaerys’s Targaryen mind, cause him to secure a marriage that would deprive Joanna of her crown. They had done it by birthing her in a man’s world, where she would never be allowed what she truly deserved. And now, they had done it to the Targaryens, for daring to attempt restore what had no longer existed. Targaryens, and their magic. Fucking magic. Dragon eggs, and fire, a mouth of hell that reached so high into the heavens that Joanna had seen it glowing in the distance from the Red Keep. She’d caught a bug that was going around, damn her, and so, she couldn’t go to Summerhall. Couldn’t protect her princess. Wasn’t there as her grandfather and grandmother and aunt and uncles burned alive, and she birthed their child amongst death and eternal flame. She wasn’t there.

She wasn’t there, but Rhaella had returned to her, here. Here, in the Red Keep, with her dress blackened and tattered and covered in blood and smelling of smoke, and their cub in her arms. The child was silent, and so was Rhaella. So was everything, but Rhaella was the worst. There was nothing old within her, only the new, only the change, only the mourning. Her face was limp, eyes dull, voice soft as ever, but monotone. She did not smile, and she did not laugh. Her laugh. That light giggle that mimicked birdsong. It was ash, all ash now, left in Summerhall. Left in Summerhall, along with the old king and Rhaella’s spirit.

Gods. Joanna had wanted the innocence to vanish, but not like this. _Not like this._

“My princess?” It was said too gently. Joanna didn’t think that she had ever spoken so softly in her entire life. _I’m coddling her, as Lorei does._ She should stop. She should stop, but she still softly stepped through the threshold of the girl’s chamber, so as to not frighten her — she flinched with every noise, now, eyes searching for the danger, dainty hands clenching herself, shoulders small, and Joanna _should have been there._

The chamber was dark, darker than it should’ve been, because Rhaella loved light. Joanna couldn’t remember a time when she even used her curtains. Her chest tightened, more than it should’ve at the realization. “Princess?”

But Rhaella was not there; only Lorei, and the babe. She sat on Rhaella’s bed — the neat, cold, empty bed, because Rhaella did not sleep, these days, even while laying in Joanna’s arms — cradling the child, rocking him back and forth while she hummed to him.

“Where is she?” Joanna asked.

Lorei didn’t take her eyes from the babe. The babe. The babe, who was so silver and pale that there was no way it was even possible for him to have ever been Joanna’s son, even if she’d had the seed to make him. She wouldn’t stop claiming him as her cub, though. Anything less would let Aerys win.

“The godswood,” Lorei said.

“The godswood? Why there?” Rhaella was a fairly faithful follower of the Faith of the Seven, and Joanna didn’t remember her liking to go there, besides.

Lorei sighed. “She wanted to be alone.”

“And you just _let_ her?” Joanna scowled. “She can’t —”

“What, Jo?” Lorei raised a brow. “She can’t what? Mourn? You need to stop rushing her.”

“And _you_ need to stop pretending she’s all right!” It burst from her mouth in a loud roar, burning her throat, and she jumped at her own voice, her own pain, her own weakness. Her Kitten. Her poor Kitten.

Joanna’s eyes went to the cub, checking to see if the scream had frightened him. He was as silent as ever, eyes closed, pale fingers like drops of moon on Lorei’s dusky skin. _Like a grave,_ Joanna knew. Prince Rhaegar did not act like a normal child, to the point where it made Joanna wonder if all the tales about him were true, that as he was born in death, he was somehow … _aware._ Older than any newborn had a right to be. It would be fitting, considering the circumstances of his birth, not to mention his blood. Targaryens, and magic. She had wanted to believe it was untrue, all propaganda to make their subjects fear and revere them, but even before the disaster with the dragon eggs, before her wedding night, Rhaella had had _dreams._ Dreams that came to pass when all were awake. Joanna had forced herself not to think of it, but, staring at this silent, still child, she couldn’t help but wonder … had he dreamed of his birth, in the womb? Did he know? Did _Rhaella_ know? She had claimed to lose her vision-dreams after Aerys fucked her, but …

No. If Rhaella had seen Summerhall burning, she would have told Joanna. She hid nothing from Joanna, nothing. She was no liar, not to Joanna, not to anyone. She was too good, too pure to even think of it. Even still, she couldn’t be alone. Joanna would find her.

Lorei was unfazed by Joanna’s outburst. “We all pretend sometimes, my love,” she said. “You most of all.”

Joanna laughed, a bit too shrilly. She turned to leave.

“Joanna.”

Joanna paused, didn’t look back.

“If she does not want you, let her be.”

“She always wants me, Lorei,” Joanna said. Then, to the godswood.

The godswood met her with an eerie, tangled, living eye, and Joanna remembered why she hated it here. She misliked gods, even ones she didn’t believe in. Rhaella liked them, though. She kneeled before the tree, and her shoulders were not as small as they were the last time Joanna had seen her. That angered her more than it should’ve. Trees _can calm her, but I can’t?_

But it wasn’t the trees. It was the birds. They perched on the bench right in front of where Rhaella knelt, on the branches, on the ground.

And they were singing.

 _All_ of them. Chirping, chirping like Rhaella’s voice, before the fire had choked it out of her.

But there was no smoke in Rhaella’s lungs — not then. Not then, because a sound graced the wood, a light, soft string, like harps, and Joanna was speechless. Rhaella’s voice. Her _voice._ She was like some woods nymph, breathing life into the forest by singing her lilts that were more beautiful than birdsong, heavenly, and Joanna saw it. Pooling in her eyes, pulling at her lips as she smiled. _Innocence._ It hadn’t left, of course not. Only hid beneath soot and ash and fire, and blood. Rhaella had not changed — that silly, useless strength wouldn't let her. It wouldn’t let her, and Joanna’s chest tightened, and she laughed like a madwoman — or perhaps only a relieved woman, Joanna didn’t know. But she had to have been mad, because she could have sworn she felt her eyes stinging and go wet.

Rhaella heard the laugh. She stopped singing, turned and saw her there. The birdsong seemed to slow, muffle, hush, and Joanna only saw the princess. Sunlight shining gold off her pale hair, eyes like amethysts being reborn. Silver and soft and exhausted, yet smiling, her eyes bright, even though they were pained. Yes. She was learning. Joanna’s lessons hadn’t been in vain. _Dragons breathe fire, never salt,_ she had told her, once, when she’d grown tired of the girl’s simpering and tears and ignorance of her blood. It had not been in vain. Rhaella had listened, all while keeping her innocence, rebelling, in her own way. Another laugh. Her girl. Her sweet, brave girl.

Then Rhaella was standing, and suddenly, Joanna was focused. Her stomach was jumpy, and her eyes were still stinging, and her lips felt stretched, as if she’d been smiling. _Had_ she been smiling? _It is only because I’m relieved,_ she told herself. She had begun to worry that the princess would never bring herself out of this funk. Now, with her grief fading, and innocence restored, she would return to being easy pickings for Joanna. Ripe for the plucking, as always.

Joanna walked over to her Kitten, held out a hand. “Come, my princess. You’ve had no rest, and your son will need you soon.”

Rhaella blinked slowly, big eyes watching Joanna’s hand. Then she placed it in hers. Soft and small and dainty, covered and laced with Joanna’s long, graceful fingers. Gold and silver, merged again.

They walked hand in hand, toward her chambers, silent. Then, Rhaella whispered, “ _Our_ son.”

Joanna smirked. The girl may have been brave, but she was still blind to manipulation. Even still, she had passed the test. _Welcome home, Kitten_. “Ours indeed,” she said.

 

**Last**

 

Only a year into her reign as King, Joanna Lannister became Lady of the Rock, and in hindsight, she had overstepped.

She thought she could be both. That she could have sway at court until it was time to return to the West, and claim new power there. She was wrong. She was wrong, because she had seen Aerys’s jealousy as nothing more than a source of amusement, or a tool in one of her plots. Now, it was … _more. Aerys_ was _more,_ more paranoid, more prone to rage, dancing toward madness, and _Joanna was wrong._

Wrong, because anyone and everyone were at her and Tywin’s wedding feast, and Aerys Targaryen was watching her like a lion would a sheep … or a raper would a maiden. When she was younger and more foolish, she would have reveled in his want as she pulled him along, slipping away as he drew close enough to touch, not afraid, never afraid, but now, _now,_ she was wiser, and had too much to lose. He was obsessed, and the fact that she was with Tywin, _Tywin,_ of all people, and wasn’t with him for only politics — she wanted him, had _chosen_ him, even before he chose her — had driven him mad. When it came to Tywin Lannister, Aerys was a madman. And she had just thrown herself between that rivalry.

Still, even knowing all of that, and that Aerys had been seething at the ceremony, and had drowned himself in wine the minute he sat at his place at the table, nothing could prepare her for the words that left his foul, drunken mouth.

“The new Lady Lannister looks quite beautiful, doesn’t she?” he asked, hands clutching his wine cup. He needed to clip his nails; they were getting long, and had scratched the metal of his chalice.

Joanna said nothing, stared at him. Lilac met emerald, and Joanna was unyielding. Neither was Aerys. He smirked, wide and ugly and stretched, and how had she ever found him handsome?

Then, “A shame my ancestors banned the Right to the First Night.”

Silence.

Then, laughter.

All of them, all of them laughed. Everyone, even the lowborn servants. Everyone, save for Rhaella, Lorei, and her own kin. And Tywin. _Tywin._ She did not see his rage, as he sat beside her, just out the corner of her eye. But she didn’t need to see it; she _felt_ it, knew it like her own heartbeat, and as soon as it coursed through her, Joanna was not afraid, even despite the look in Aerys’s eye, the hazy light of lust and hate that screamed _I’m going to fuck you, whether you wish it or not. You thought you were King? I’ll show you who’s king_.

Joanna was not afraid. Aerys would suffer for this. Tywin was furious, and Lannisters paid their debts. Aerys would pay, as would they all. She was not afraid. She was not. She was not. Why should the lion fear the dragon?

But when her eyes went unbidden to where Rhaella sat — unbidden, because she had done her best not to look upon the girl all day, even though she could still feel those sad eyes, still feel, _still_ — Joanna knew she had cause to fear. Rhaella was terrified, eyes wide, fingers gripping each other so hard they were whiter than ever, white as a ghost. Did she fear for _her?_

 _Don’t ever fear for me, Kitten,_ she thought, angrily … until the realization set in.

Rhaella was afraid.

And she’d been afraid for some time, hadn’t she? Since the betrothal, but Joanna had mistaken that for a broken heart. But it wasn’t just that. It was Aerys. She was afraid of Aerys, and Aerys’s words had awakened something within her. Did Aerys speak to Rhaella like that, from anger over Joanna choosing Tywin? Look at her with eyes that gleamed to terrorize? Joanna was a lioness, but Rhaella, even with her dragon’s blood, was still a kitten. And she’d been raised with Aerys’s doting and spoiling. Joanna had never heard him even mildly yell at the girl, let alone intentionally frighten her, or look at her like …

Those eyes. They were hideous, pink things, and Joanna was not afraid of Aerys, she _wasn’t,_ she wasn’t, but still, it was unnerving, to look into those eyes. Even more so if those eyes belonged to one’s husband, and if he was allowed to hurt and frighten and dominate all he liked with no one to stop him, because he was the King.

Joanna’s hands shook, just slightly, just _slightly,_ and she grit her teeth. She wanted to clench her fist, but Aerys was still watching, and she would not give him the satisfaction. But just the mere thought of it … of Rhaella looking into those eyes that had just met hers, and seeing madness, and threats to hurt her … Rhaella, in pain at Aerys’s hands, in fear —

She would fucking kill him. She swore it. She would fucking _kill_ him, and she would be King again, and she’d take the Queen and look at her the way she _deserved_ to be —

Her heart skipped a beat, and this time, she did clench a fist — one, just one, for half a breath, hidden in the bloom of her skirt so no one saw, but it didn’t matter, because _she_ knew, and had she gone mad? _I’ve had plenty to drink,_ she told herself. _It’s making me possessive. And paranoid._

Yes. She was drunk, that had to be it. Otherwise, why would she ever vow to risk her future to defend Rhaella’s honor, the weakling who’d stolen her crown? _She is a friend,_ Joanna could admit. _Only a friend. But_ my _friend._ Mine. Hers, always, even though she hadn’t bedded the girl in years. Had barely touched her in some time, too long, not even kisses or caresses, not since the betrothal, because she was with _Tywin,_ now, and her kisses and caresses were only for him, even though a mad part of her had wanted to kiss Rhaella’s unshed tears when she’d begged Joanna not to do it. Not to forsake her, just because she was to be the Lady of the Rock. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because Joanna’s claim was immortal, and since she had fucked Rhaella, Rhaella was hers, _always,_ whether she fucked her again or not. The mark of the lioness left scars. No one escaped it, not Rhaella, not Aerys, and not Tywin.

Rhaella had Joanna’s mark. If Aerys thought he could mishandle one of Joanna’s things, then he had underestimated her poorly.

Still, she had no proof, and she hoped there was none to be found, but if he had … _if Aerys had even_ looked _at her wrong …_

Joanna found Rhaella again. Small, sitting, holding herself, lost and lonely and in need of her.

 _You need guarding, as always, Kitten,_ Joanna thought. She looked down at the ring Tywin had gifted her. A ring fit for the Lady of the Westerlands. _But even still, eventually I must let you go._

 

**Never**

 

“That’s the last of your luggage, my lady,” said the servant.

“Good,” she said. “Now leave.”

He left, and Joanna was alone. She’d wanted to be alone. Had exiled the maids, banished the washerwomen, dismissed her handmaidens. _I can dismiss ladies too, you ungrateful cunt._

And she had been ungrateful. The weak, idiotic queen who had stumbled across her crown not through strategy, but because Papa _made_ her. Joanna had been good to that girl. She had been. Cruel sometimes, perhaps, but only because she needed to learn how the world worked, to learn that she was sheltered, and reject that upbringing to become a dragon. But she had learned that lesson _too_ well, it seemed.

 _Whore._ The thought rang in Joanna’s head, chirping through her ears. _She called me a whore._ All for _Aerys?_ Because she thought Joanna was fucking _Aerys Targaryen ... now?_ After all the years they’d spent together, Rhaella had somehow gotten it into her soft silver head that Joanna was stupid. She would _have_ to be stupid, to fuck Aerys at this point. Joanna was Tywin Lannister’s wife, had _chosen_ to be his wife. Chosen to be his partner, and give him trueborn children. With Aerys, there was no higher road than the status of mistress, with all of her children as bastards, and, even if they were legitimized, cast in the line of succession after Rhaegar and any other siblings he’d have — if the infertile bitch could figure out how to carry a child to term, that is. She hadn’t been able to do it since Rhaegar. And when each child died, it was Joanna she’d come crying to. _She wished I could put a child in her,_ Joanna remembered.

Joanna remembered everything. She remembered Rhaella’s wide eyes glowing in admiration, completely clueless that she was being played for a fool. She remembered the blush that took her face when Joanna first kissed her, and the sounds of her gasps and moans and begging as Joanna fucked her —

And eyes. Eyes, too hard to be Rhaella’s. Amethyst, but cold, and when she spoke, it was in front of the entire court.

The litter was waiting. Joanna had to get her things and go.

Nearly everything had been packed before she’d kicked out her servants. There was only one armoire left untouched. Shaking hands threw open the doors, looked through what was inside. Old things. Things that meant nothing anymore, things she wouldn’t look at —

Then, green.

Green as emerald as her eyes. Silk and embroidery, and much too tight, just like that cunt septa had said, all those lifetimes ago.

The gown was in her hands before she knew it. Running through her fingers like water, soft and light and perfect, still.

 _She put her crown on my head and called me Joey,_ Joanna remembered, and the world blurred. A sharp gasp, stinging eyes, and hot wetness like fire, running down her face, and she couldn’t breathe. Joanna dropped to her knees, held the gown to her heart, moaned through clenched teeth. _I’ve gone mad,_ she knew, but that didn’t stop the tears. Tears. She was crying. She was actually crying. She hadn’t cried when her father was killed in the war, or when she learned how cruel the world was to women, and _why was she crying?_

 _She played me. She_ fooled _me._ Joanna had promised herself that a Targaryen would never fool her again, yet here she was. Here she was, in her delusion, thinking it was _her_ in control, her pulling the strings, when the girl had been a snake all along, and had pretended to be weak. Pretended that Joanna had those amethysts captured, when in truth it was her emeralds in chains, locked, tethered, with dainty pale hands holding the reins.

No. No, that didn’t make sense. She couldn’t have played the part that long; Joanna wouldn’t have fallen for something like that, not when she had practically invented that method herself. _No. I had her,_ she told herself. _I owned her, used her, never cared about her nearly as much as she cared about me._ But if she didn’t care, _why was she crying?_

 _Because I’ve been defeated. Foiled by those inbred dragonless madmen, again._ Yes. Yes, that made sense. Yes.

But then came another voice, softer, distant, but louder than the frantic beating of her heart. _Lannisters lie._

Joanna shook her head, frantically. Gods, she really was going mad. _No. I wouldn’t lie to myself. I know myself. I know what I want. Who I want. I am a lioness of the Rock,_ the _lioness, now, and I don’t care about some pathetic abused weakling who can’t even give her king another heir._

She didn’t care.

She didn’t care.

She didn’t care, yet the tears were still falling. Salt. _Dragons breathe fire, never salt,_ she had told Rhaella. It was genuine advice, to help the girl, because Joanna had wanted her to be safe, and strong, and she had done _so much_ for her, and _how could Rhaella do this to her?_

And just like that, the tears stopped.

Tears.

She had been crying.

Crying in the way her mother had, whenever her father strayed from their bed.

Crying like Shaera had when Jaehaerys died.

Crying like a lover.

Lover.

_Love._

_No. I can’t. I can’t be. We’re two_ women _, and not even Dornish at that. I don’t think of other women that way. It wasn’t serious, only a game, only a means to an end, only …_ Only. Only, yet the salt on her cheeks were bitter and clung to her skin.

 _No. I want Tywin. Only Tywin._ Only Tywin, she wanted Tywin, but did she _love_ Tywin? She didn’t know. She knew that she loved that Tywin was worthy of her, because he most certainly was, the only man in the world who was strong and clever and fierce and cunning enough to be. She knew that she loved that _Tywin_ loved _her,_ because he did, quite obviously — he wouldn’t show her his true self, otherwise. She knew that she loved fucking him. She knew that she loved being married to him, and not just because of politics. She knew that she was fond of him, and _could_ love him, given enough time. But she didn’t know if she loved him now.

She knew about Rhaella, though.

 _She was my friend. I don’t have many friends. It hurts to lose something you have few of._ But even as the thought ran through her mind, it rang hollow.

No. Gods, no. _I can’t be. I_ can’t _be._ She can’t be, but Lannisters lied, all the time, every time, were born and honed and raised from lies, and they could feel lies when they were near, in their minds and in their hearts, and as Joanna thought, told herself, _told_ herself, _it was only a game, you had_ her _,_ never reversed, _never_ reversed, that tinge was there, in her mind, reeling, and Rhaella’s eyes were always so beautiful to her, unearthly and kind and sparkling, and her voice was birdsong, not annoying chirps like Joanna had wanted them to be, and she hated seeing her with Aerys because she was jealous, and she’d admired Rhaella for preserving her innocence for so long in a world filled with people like her, and Joanna wished she’d been strong enough to keep _her_ innocence, and she’d felt like a family while holding Rhaella and Rhaegar because they _were_ her family, and when Rhaella had put her crown on Joanna’s head, and smiled at her so genuinely, so _innocently,_ so utterly honest and not just saying whatever she needed to to play the game, it had made Joanna’s heart race, and she’d returned that smile unbidden like a fool because _she was in love with Rhaella._

Another moan left her then. A low roar, a cry, and the tears came back to claim her. Gods, it still hurt. She’d faced the truth, why did it still _hurt_ so much?

 _Because you realized that you’re in love with her,_ that cruel voice told her, _but now it’s too late._

Joanna bit back her cry with clenched teeth as the tears fell into her mouth. Hide it, she had to hide it. No one could hear her. No one could see her like this. No one. No one. No one, not even herself.

Joanna dug her nails into her arms, focused on the pain of her flesh until the one in her heart was weaker. Then she cleaned herself up, packed the rest of her things and left them for the servants, then headed toward the litter, out the gate, where everyone had come to see her shame, the downfall of the great Joanna Lannister. The lioness kept her head held high, high above the sheep, eyes locked on the only other lion there, the only one that mattered. Still, though her gaze stayed locked on Lannister eyes, she could somehow feel that there were no purple ones looking her way. No amethysts. Rhaella wasn’t here. Which was all well and fine — it was too late, anyhow.

Tywin gave her a nod as she drew nearer to him. She nodded back, and that was the end of it. No words needed to be said, not here, amongst the sheep. He had come to her before, in private, and there was nothing more to say. _Well,_ Joanna thought as she stepped into the litter, _Nothing for_ him _to tell_ me, _at least._ She wondered if Tywin would ever believe her if she told him she was in love with the queen. Most like, he would not. The only thing Joanna misliked about Tywin was his sense of denial, when it came to image. Lady Lannister liking both silver-haired cunts along with golden cocks wasn’t a House image Lord Tywin Lannister would like to invoke to the public, and so, he would force himself to be blind to it, even if he ever caught Rhaella and Joanna fucking. He would be mad to deny what capered right before his eyes, but still, he would do it.

And just like that, Joanna Lannister burst out laughing. Well, she supposed that was another reason she was so attracted to the evil bastard. They were like minded in more ways than one, it seemed.

Ahh, well. She’d failed her time at court in the most humiliating way, and her heart was numb, but the Rock awaited, and, as with all failings, there was a lesson to be learned from all of this.

Lannisters lie … even to themselves.

 

 

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> So that's my almost late addition to Femslash February. If you enjoyed it, please let me know in the comments! <3
> 
> Also, for the readers of Purple Lions Dancing, or anyone who wants to know see more of this universe — if you liked this prequel and don't want to miss more stories set in this universe, be sure to subscribe to the Purple Lions series! That way, you won't miss any new fics I post.


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